


"I just told you that I liked you..."

by mixedwithintellect



Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Tumblr Prompt, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 19:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: the one where Y/N confessesOR:based off the tumblr prompt: "I just told you I liked you but now I'm shy and say 'never mind, forget it' and why are you looking at me like that?"(the beginning is formatted as a response to an ask, heads up)





	"I just told you that I liked you..."

Okay, so I don’t see it as a ‘becoming shy’ incident (imo I think it’s sort of pointless to say ‘forget it’ because obviously the other person isn’t gonna be like ‘OH okay forgotten! Totally gone in the past, how much you’re in love with me – all GOOD here’)

but more like Y/N is trying to brush it off, like it isn’t a big deal she just informed her best friend that she likes him, in a ‘more than friends’ way. It’s because he’s staring at her and not saying anything, no movement or motion or any clue as to how he might be feeling, so she decides to play it off as a silly crush and-

“Harry, it’s no big deal. I mean, you’re a cute guy and all so it’s like more of a-”

“How much?”

Y/N finally looks up and oh, god, this fucker is  _smirking_  at Y/N, his elbows on the table and he’s leaning inwards, head tilted to the side and his mouth half-open in a fucking  _smirk_.

“What do you  _mean_  how much?” she’s narrowing her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning back into the seat to try and create some distance between them both. They’re at the local cafe, having enjoyed a light brunch together, and she had let it slip out halfway through the meal how she truly felt about him.

How those words collaborated together against her so poorly, she’ll never know, she hadn’t realized what had come out of her mouth until Harry had choked on his coffee. 

And now she feels like choking him for real.

“Like, how  _much_  do yeh like me, yeh know?”

His smirk deepens, his cockiness shining through in his eyes.

This  _fucker_.

“On a scale of one to ten, I would say a seven.”

Two could play this game, she figures.

Harry’s jaw drops, his facade lowering for a quick second. “Only a seven?!” he whispers, eyebrows furrowing together.

She waves her hand in the air, looking to the side and pretending like her heart was  _not_  hammering a million times a minute. “Well, Haz, haven’t seen your dick proper, have I? Can’t decide til then.”

“Does that  _really_  contribute to how much yeh like me?” He sniffs, looking away, his fingers itching the tip of his nose twice before curling again around his coffee.

“Why can’t it contribute? Why the fuck are you telling me how to properly like you?” she’s trying to twist his words now, figure a way out to pin the awkward and intense spotlight on him.

“Do yeh usually check out a guy’s cock before deciding he’s worth yeh attention?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” she shrugs, well aware that she’s being blatantly fake right now and Harry can see right through it.

Harry’s nodding, reaching around his wrist for a hair tie and pulling his long strands back. She sips her tea again, struggling to figure out how to fill the silence that had become ridiculously tense. The chatter of the cafe overrides her senses momentarily, she almost considers the situation forgotten until-

“Well, love, I  _was_  going to say I think you’re a fucking ten, but if I’m showing you mine…” he slips a hand into his pocket and withdraws a few dollar bills, tossing them on the table without even looking at the amount. This rich mother _fucker_.

He stands up abruptly, shifting his jacket to cover his front well enough (there  _are_  paparazzi outside and everyone else but  _her_  it seems bloody knows how crazy he is for Y/N, doesn’t need them to see the visible proof of it). She’s staring at him, still unsure as to where he’s going, and her cheeks feel flush from his compliment.

Harry’s holding out his hand to her, nodding when she grasps onto it and rises out of her seat.

“Yeh can show me yours,” he finishes, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her close as he begins walking. His tone is cheery, friendly, and obscenely casual considering the implications, and how tight his fingers are around her body.

“Do you actually like me?” she can’t stop herself from asking, the foreplay is  _grand_  and all but, jeez, if she’s going to do this – he needs to make some things more  _clear_.

His eyes soften and he steps aside with her before they reach the cafe door. His hands go on both of her shoulders, their palms practically swallowing them. 

He’s lowering his head a bit, tilting upwards to look her in the eye and his sunglasses are pushed against the endless curls of his long hair, and she can see his fucking  _lip freckle_  like how the  _fuck_  is this  _fucker_ even – and he’s talking and she’s missing it oh my god –

“I’m crazy about you,” he speaks with earnest, smiling a bit when he sees the cautious hold in her eyes lessen. “Yeh already broke my scale, there’s no fucking scale when it comes to yeh. I like you, Y/N. An awful lot.”

She’s nodding slightly, a bit of a cry and a smile breaking across her face. The elderly man sitting to her left is looking at the two of them like they’re  _crazy_ , his wife the only one holding her napkin to her mouth and glistening with understanding.

And the two of them leave - and things aren’t really  _different_  exactly, because sometimes the feelings explode within a pair of closer-than-friends but it’s not explosively altering the relationship they held. It’s a difference of expression, showing a type of love typically unseen in friendships.

As far as what  _else_ had been unseen up to that point…

Harry definitely became a  _strong_  10 in Y/N’s book.


End file.
